


victims.

by Skyuni123



Series: benthan week 2019 [2]
Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Heart-to-Heart, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masculinity, Off-Stage Dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 14:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20244142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyuni123/pseuds/Skyuni123
Summary: on the flight home from kashmir, benji and ethan discover they're a lot more similar than they realised.it's easier for a victim to blame themselves. it's not so easy to move past it.





	victims.

**Author's Note:**

> Mention of off-stage dub-con/mention of victim blaming
> 
> prompt was: hurt/comfort

He’s strapped to a gurney for the turbulent helicopter ride back to Islamabad. Benji sits next to him, also strapped in, and goes pale every time the helicopter lurches and drops.

It’s all very good.  


The whole not being dead thing.

Everything else is slightly less good, but he’ll deal with that when he can actually walk again.

“You doing alright there, Benji?” 

Benji scowls at him, balefully, and says, in a voice far raspier than usual, “You have absolutely no idea how this feels, so just shut up, okay?”

Well, that’s measurably not true. “Care to remember exactly what happened last time I was in a helicopter?”

Benji flinches, as though the magnitude of the whole thing has only hit him, just now, but carries on regardless. “Yeah, but you’re basically immortal. We could fall out of the sky right now and you’d definitely survive. Me - I’m not that lucky.”

It’s not immortality, it’s survival skills - but Ethan doesn’t have the capacity or the pain tolerance to go into that right now. “Work as long as I have as an agent and you’ll acquire that power.”

“God, I can’t wait.” Benji replies, then lapses into silence. 

  
  


Ethan’s spent enough time around the other man - perils of a partnership that’s lasted nearly fourteen years and all - to know when something’s wrong. “You’re being snippy. What’s going on?”

“I-”

“Benji, I am  _ not  _ on enough Demerol to dance around you. What’s wrong?”

Benji shifts uncomfortably in his seat, but seems to relent under his gaze. He undoes the top two buttons of his shirt and pulls the collar down to reveal -

Thick lines of bruising all around his neck, as well as angry red scratches scattered around the top of his torso. It’s got to be damn painful - would absolutely be damn painful - and Ethan’s saying that as a person with several broken ribs and a rich medical history.

_ Shit.  _ Benji hadn’t said - he’d never even mentioned - “Lane?”

“Yep.” Benji doesn’t quite flinch at the name but he does grit his teeth, almost imperceptibly.

Immediately, Ethan is sure that Benji’s not talked to anyone about this. About Lane’s fascination with him. It’s readable in the lines on his face and in his eyes, and it’s readable through the insane amounts of painkillers he’s on. Benji’s hurting.   


_ Fuck.  _ Letting Lane go back to the UK had been too kind a punishment. For all he’d done - Hunley, the torture, everything - he deserves to rot in hell, and Ethan should be the one to put him there. 

But not now. He’s got other priorities. Benji. Benji’s injuries. “Have you been checked out?”

Choking wounds - they can kill, weeks after the fact. They’re deadlier than people think. 

“Yeah. The doctor back at the camp - Julia’s husb - uh - Patrick - he got to me before you woke up. Fractured larynx, surface bruising - provided I don’t pass out between here and the US I should be fine. It’s - it’s just  _ a lot _ , you know? Being hanged. And I shouldn’t be complaining because I’m just a bit bruised and you’re literally a bag of bones right now but I’m pretty sure I died for a bit back then and I don’t know if -”

“Benji.” Ethan reaches out, ignores the pain like he always does, and puts a hand on Benji’s wrist. 

“What?”

“You’re freaking out.” 

“I’m not freaking out! I just-”

He grips tighter. It’s really the only movement he’s been able to make all day that hasn’t hurt. “You’re definitely freaking out. Take a breath.” 

Benji takes a couple of breaths but doesn’t look any more self-assured. “This isn’t helping.” He groans, and leans over just as the helicopter shakes again. “Honestly, fuck this.”

“If you puke it’ll just make your throat feel worse.” Ethan says, rather matter-of-factly, because it’s true. He knows from experience.

“Thanks for your support.” Benji snarks, and sits back against the wall of the helicopter, dropping Ethan’s hand immediately. 

He’s being evasive, it’s obvious. And look, Ethan gets it. Hiding pain and dealing with it himself is how he was built, how he was brought up, how he’s lived most of his life -  


But there’s support, now.

Ethan is really too broken for this conversation, but he shoulders on anyway, ignoring the fact that he almost fell off a mountain. “Have you been to therapy?”

“Define… therapy.”

“I mean, actively spending time with one of the specialists in the organisation?”

“Not exactly.”

Ethan groans, as the helicopter shakes and pain arcs through his ribs. It’s only partially from the momentum. “You don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Forgive me if I want to make sure that you’ve recovered from a literal despotic killer holding you hostage for the second time, Benji!” He snaps, pain and exhaustion spending his temper, in a way that’s far too loud for the headsets they’re both wearing. 

Benji recoils, just a little. He breathes sharply in, through his teeth. “...I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Please, Benji.” He tries another tactic, that he’s sure won’t work, but he’s got barely anything left in him, “There’s evidence that suggests -”

“Yeah, don’t do that. Don’t cite sources or tell me that everyone goes through it. I’m not a fool, Ethan. We see this stuff constantly, but… not like this. Not like Lane.”

And it feels like he should leave it, but he just keeps on pressing. He needs to know, he needs to understand. One of his own has been harmed and he just. Can’t. “Please, I just-”

“Want to help?” Benji balls up his fists and pushes them against the fabric of the seat, looking uncomfortable, and like he’d rather be in any place than the helicopter.

Ethan knows the feeling, but the moment’s too pressing. “I can’t help you. The professionals  _ can,  _ though. They’ve seen it all. Violence, hostage situations, tort-”

“Not like this.” Benji stills, drops his gaze to the floor. “...Not like this.”

And with that, he knows Benji isn’t just talking about Kashmir. Knows why he refuses to elaborate, despite always being first to complain about injuries sustained on other missions. There’s history there, with him, with Lane - it’s obvious, when he thinks about it. 

The image in Benji’s eyes…

He sees it every time he looks in the mirror. 

“You need to. Otherwise it’ll just keep eating you up inside until you can’t focus on anything else.” The pain that rattles through Ethan’s ribs this time isn’t just because of the helicopter, because he knows how it feels. He knows how it felt. He knows what it’s like to feel embarrassed for his pain, to hang on the edge of a precipice with nowhere to run. He’s seen it take other agents, and he’s not going to let it take Benji.

Softly, he says, “I know how you feel.”

“You don’t-”

“I was in Moscow in 1999,” he says, wearily, suddenly tired down to his bones. Reliving the memories doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, but he still feels… something. “End of a mission. I’d cut the flow of a drug ring and the local bratva weren’t happy about it. I was with them for eleven days ‘til the IMF pulled me out. Didn’t feel quite like myself for a few years after that.”

“You’re- you.” Benji says, and he seems a little confused by the moment. “I mean, I had no chance against Lane’s men but you-”

And he hates that,  _ hates  _ his image and what he’s become. That kind of talk invalidates survivors, invalidates people who’ve gone through and survived worse. He hates that he's the paragon of saintly virtue that Benji looks up to, even when he'd walked into the situation himself. “I’m not invincible, no matter what anyone seems to think.” He takes a breath, shallowly, because pain still radiates from his ribs, and waves his hand out to Benji to take.

The other man intertwines their fingers without even seeming to take a moment to think about it. 

“You don’t need to talk to a shrink. Not yet, anyway. Just talk to someone. Me, Jane, Brandt - your cat- whoever.” Ethan squeezes down a little, feels the strength and  _ humanity  _ stemming from the other man. “Just talk.”

“...I don’t have a cat?” Benji says, and  _ of course  _ that’s the one thing he’s taken from it all.

“Your dog then. Goldfish? Parrot? Didn’t you have a cat last time I went over to your flat?”

“Prince Jack was my sister’s.” Benji says, very flatly, “And he hated me.”

He’s not even going to go there. “Regardless. Just talk to someone, someone you trust. Please?”

Benji takes a deep breath, takes a look down at their joined hands. He’s hesitant for a few moments, weighing the words out on his tongue. “Ethan?”

“Yeah?” Ethan shuffles back into a more comfortable position and looks towards the ceiling. Islamabad beckons, and hopefully a hot shower does too.

“...Can I talk to you? If it won’t… hurt you too, or anything?”

And it takes him a moment to answer, because the sheer trust in the words is far more than he’s ever been given. “Anytime.”

And they sit, locked together in their shared pain and experience, as the helicopter rattles its way back to Islamabad. It’s not going to be good for a while, really -

But it’s better than nothing.  


**Author's Note:**

> If you have experienced sexual violence, I urge you to talk to someone. There's a list of helplines [ here ](https://www.rcne.com/links/sources-of-help-for-survivors/).


End file.
